


Reckless chef

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Cooking, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 17:38:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7541794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU Kili cooks up disaster in the kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reckless chef

The shrill, piercing alert of the smoke detector thrust you rudely from sleep to wakefulness, and you groped at the other side of the bed in bleary-eyed confusion.

“Kili,” you mumbled, reaching for him, but when your hand met only rumpled sheets and a cool mattress you dragged your eyes fully open and sat up, a jolt of adrenaline coursing through you at seeing the hallway just outside your bedroom hazy with smoke in the morning sunlight.

Your heart hammered almost painfully in your chest as you burst into the kitchen to find Kili standing under the blaring smoke detector, desperately flailing a tea towel at the wispy, gray cloud that billowed around it.

Clamping your hands over your ears, you hurried to throw open the window and turn on the fan in the stove’s hood. The fan whirred loudly into action, joining the insistent beeping, and the words Kili’s lips formed were drowned out by the cacophony.

“What?” You took your hands from your ears, turning off the fan again as you strained to hear.

“I SAID…” the smoke detector cut off abruptly with a final, strangled chirp, leaving his shout echoing in the now-quiet room. “…SORRY–“ he grimaced and broke off sheepishly. “I said I’m sorry for waking you.”

Your relief bubbled up in a shaky laugh, and you looked around the kitchen at haphazard stacks of mixing bowls and measuring cups and the dusting of flour on the floor, wincing at the sharp, acrid smell that filled your nostrils. 

“What on earth happened?”

Kili lifted the apron he’d tied over his pajama pants to his face, wiping away the sheen of sweat that had broken out on his forehead. “I was trying to make you breakfast.”

A glance at the open oven revealed a baking sheet crusted with the blackened remains of what looked like hockey pucks.

“What were you making?”

“Pancakes.”

“Pancakes,” you repeated, leaning to look more closely at the charred rounds. “In…the oven?”

“I thought I could make more of them, faster, if I did them under the grill,” he confessed meekly.

“Well, I think you’ve discovered why they don’t call them ‘ovencakes,’“ you sighed, and Kili slumped against the counter with a dejected look.

**“Why do bad things always happen to me?”** He chuckled ruefully, blowing at a ticklish tendril of his hair that had escaped the bun he’d piled it in.

Torn between amusement and sympathy, you moved to stand in front of him and coaxed his hands to rest on your waist while you draped your arms around his neck, reaching to tuck the offending strand of hair back into its tie. With a small, begrudging smile, he stood up straighter, sliding his arms around you to pull you close to his chest and resting his pouting lips against your forehead.

“I’m impressed that you got back into the kitchen after the egg incident,” you teased gently.

“How was I to know you can’t cook eggs in the microwave?”

“Well, you _can_ ,” you conceded, “just not, you know, in the shells.”

His huff of laughter stirred your hair, and when you looked up, his eyes had regained their usual twinkle of good humor. He bent to kiss you lightly, murmuring, “thanks for always putting up with me.”

“Well, I’m afraid **cooking is definitely not your forte** ,” you smiled, “but thankfully, your other charms more than make up for it.”

Kili’s chest rumbled with a genuine laugh, cheerful and easy and always music to your ears, and he pressed his lips to yours more enthusiastically, lingering there before tucking your head under his chin to envelop you in a bracing hug.

“It’s a good thing ‘knowing how to clean a kitchen’ is among them,” he said, surveying the disaster area he’d made of the oven and counters.

“So…cereal?” You glanced toward the pantry, but he shook his head dismissively.

“Nah. Throw on some clothes and I’ll take you out for pancakes while the smoke clears,” he grinned. “It’s the least I can do.”


End file.
